Two poems by Hemant Shishir

Island

An island at the center of the sea,
aloof from any human glance,
twitter of the birds,
dreams by any living.
No secret way reaches there,
none missing from the battle field.

Sea attempts to sprinkle upon its silence,
clay does best to partite from its arms,
breeze roams around it searching a life cycle.

It also may have desires to travel with the tides,
dreams to swim with Pisces,
stare own reflection into the water putting moon in its forehead.
Sometime to dry the entire sea.

Thoughtfully so many tides dwell in its womb,
time testifies rest in its body after a long exhaustion,
Perhaps, twilight dreams for the next view after the completion of the wintertime stars' play in the sky.

That unsearched,
undiscovered,
Unseen,
Lonely Island is waiting for the years just for imprint of a couple of shoes.

***

Mob

A mob can produce sound.
But it cannot count the pain of the heart.
A mob is just momentary power.
A mob is always scalar.

Don't be bewildered.
A herd is not a combination of visions.
Then how can it make a good judgment?

A mob has no space beyond its boundary.
It is a laboratory.
Where a leader always conducts a forgery experiment
To fulfil his prerequisites.

A mob has no conscience.
It can reverse into fragments at any time.
A crowd has no map
It can walk anywhere.
A mob has no path.
It can be outlandish at any time.

Stay outlying from the world of mobs.
Stay out of a mob until you sharpen your thoughts.
Change is possible.
When you reconsider throngs.